#sidekick writes stuff

He sighs, rolling his sleeves back from where he'd pulled them down to cover his hands. It had helped with the cold at first, but became less and less effective as the day wore on. Legend's fingers had gone partially numb long before the Links had reached this makeshift campsite, and are now tingling in a way that almost burns. Resting his hands palms-up on his thighs, Legend examines them critically.

As he expects, the normal pinkish tone of his skin stops abruptly just below his middle knuckle, giving away to a sickly, green-tinged white. His fingers are bloodless almost all the way to the very tips, where they turned a darker reddish-purple color.

They had been surprisingly well-behaved for the past few weeks, only turning a splotchy red-and-white that was fairly easy to warm up again compared to their current state. That was more likely due to the fair weather--combined with keeping his fire rod close--than anything else, but Legend was enjoying having good blood flow for once, dammit!

Is it weird to think about his hands as if they are separate entities with their own wills? Probably. But if they're going to be little snots about maintaining proper circulation, Legend is going to treat them with the derision they deserve.

He sighs again, readying himself for a good half-hour of working the blood back into his hands before he can regain enough dexterity to properly help with camp. Using numb fingers to try and de-numb other fingers isn't all the effective, shockingly.

The sound of boots on damp leaves makes him look up. Warriors is standing there, holding a bundle of fabric.

"You know you're supposed to grab your own stuff off Epona, right?" Legend says, squinting up at him. "That sure looks an awful lot like my bedroll."

"You know you're supposed to grab your own stuff as soon as we stop, so that the rancher can take care of his horse, right?" Warriors parrots back at him. "A simple 'thank you' would do just fine."

Legend opens his mouth to make a retort, but the captain is already slinging the bundle off his shoulder and into Legend's lap. Legend instinctively reaches out to catch it, and winces as the impact jolts his tingling fingers.

"Veteran, what's wrong with your hands?"

Legend swallows down a curse; of course the captain had noticed.

"Nothing," he says. He steadies the bedroll in his lap with one hand, curling the other against his chest. As if that would be enough to warm it up in the slightest. "I'm dealing with it."

That does absolutely nothing to ease the captain's concern expression. Warriors crosses the distance between them in a few steps, kneeling down next to Legend. He takes the bedroll back, setting it to the side.

"What--hey!" Legend makes a grab for it too late, his numbed hands fumbling the retreating fabric miserably. He glares at the captain, irritated. "What did I just say about only grabbing your own stuff, huh?"

Warriors ignores him. He stares at Legend's hands, brows furrowed. "Your fingers are white."

"Wow," Legend snaps, patience thinning. He's tired and achy and so very cold. He does not have the capacity to deal with nosy assholes. "Look at you go, Captain Obvious."

His jab only makes the captain's eyebrows pinch further together. Legend wanted to clench his hands into fists and tell the knight to beat it, but the motion would just make his joints ache. Warriors makes no move to touch Legend, he continues his scrutiny.

"It's not cold enough out for frostbite to be a problem," he murmurs, sounding confused. Looking up, he asks, "Hoarder, are you wearing so many rings that it cut off your circulation or something?"

Legend huffs in annoyance. "My rings have nothing to with this."

Warriors just keeps looking at him, as if waiting for more. Maybe if Legend answers him he'll leave him alone. Legend resists the urge to roll his eyes.

"Seriously, they don't do anything. I tried not wearing them once. The only thing it accomplished was making me more likely to kick to the bucket." Legend uncurls his hands, staring down at his unhealthily pale fingers. "This just... happens, sometimes."

More like all the time.

He sighs. He'd been doing that a lot lately, he noted absently. "Like I said, I'm dealing with it."

Warriors raises an eyebrow. "And what does that entail?"

Legend closes his eyes, thunking his head back against the tree trunk. He should've known a half-baked answer wouldn't be enough to satisfy Warriors's inherent, Link-exclusive mega-nosiness.

"What do you think it entails?" Legend grouses, eyes still closed. "There's no blood in my fingers. I put the blood back in my fingers. Simple."

"So what, you're just gonna sit here and rub your frozen hands together until they can feel stuff again?" Legend can hear the frown in his voice, but he keeps his eyes closed.

"Yep."

"That seems... painful. And time-consuming."

"Yep."

Warriors doesn't say anything else. Legend's hands burn.

Maybe if he just acts like the captain isn't there than he'll leave him alone.

Swallowing down his nerves--Legend had never shown the sorry state of his hands to anybody but his sister--he opens his eyes, and lets himself fall into the familiar rhythm of routine.

His hands are quite fond of constricting his blood flow in response to the cold, stress, both, or nothing in particular. On one memorably annoying occasion, he'd been cocooned in blankets and sipping hot cider on the cozy couch in his living room, and a few of his fingers had still decided they weren't warm enough. He'd had to abandon his bubble of comfort to pace around the room, massaging his hands until his blood was flowing properly again.

Legend has had to do this more times than he cares to count.

He decides to start with his left hand. He pulls of his rings, piling them carefully in his lap. Flicking his wrist vigorously a few times to try and encourage his blood to flow towards his fingertips, Legend begins the slow process of squeezing the patchy red from his palm up to the base of his fingers, and then towards the tips.

Progress is by no means linear.

As he works, Legend constantly has to redo the same spots on his fingers, the pressure of forcing his circulation to function in ones section of his finger turning another section white once again. The fingers of his right hand remain numb and bloodless even as his left hand slowly regains feeling.

It's like trying to run uphill though sand, he thinks, not for the first time.

Legend bears it all with a patience born from tiredness, used to the slow, backward slide of his efforts and the resulting frown that settles on his face. The task takes up enough of his concentration that he startles when Warriors speaks.

"Let me try."

Legend blinks, eyes focusing on the captain. "What?"

Warriors gestures at Legend's hands. In the past few minutes, Legend has managed to work the feeling completely back into the pinky and ring fingers of his left hand, but not much else.

"Warming up your hands," Warriors replies. "Mine are plenty toasty, so it might speed up the process." He wiggles his perfectly healthy, well-circulated fingers in the air.

Legend is miserable enough that he actually considers it for a moment. He shakes his head.

"C'mon," Warriors wheedles. "It'll be faster! I'm supposed to be scouting the area right now, you know."

"Yeah, well, I don't recall asking you to stick around and bother me," Legend retorts. He turns back to his hands, and deflates.

During his brief pause, his blood had once again receded from the tips of most of his fingers. Not all the way, thankfully, but any amount was too much. He'd almost finished with his middle finger, too.

"You're also on patrol duty." Warriors's voice breaks through his thoughts again. "That's part of why I came over here in the first place."

Oh, right. That was a thing, wasn't it? Legend vaguely remembers Time dishing out the tasks shortly before they stopped for camp, but at that point he'd been so focused on his frozen hands that he'd barely heard the man.

"...Fine," he acquiesces. It’s not like Warriors could do any more damage than what had already been done to his circulation, anyway.

Legend takes off the rest of his rings, adding them to the pile in his lap, while Warriors peels off his own fingerless gloves. Legend shifts to face the captain, holding his hands out in front of him, awkwardly. He’d never had someone help him with this before, so wasn't sure how effective it would be, but he was too tired to care at the moment.

Warriors reaches out to take one of Legend's hands, and they both hiss.

"You're freezing!" Warriors exclaims, quickly enveloping the hand with both of his own. His skin feels hot enough to burn.

"Captain Obvious strikes again," Legend says through gritted teeth. Warriors doesn't reply, fully focusing on the task of forcing Legend's hands to regain proper circulation.

The tension slowly drains from Legend as the captain works. He's afraid at first that someone else warming up his fingers will hurt, but any clumsiness Warriors shows isn't any worse than what Legend's own numbed hands could manage. The captain is careful to mimic Legend's earlier actions, working blood carefully up from his palm and towards his fingertips.

The redness under Legend's skin steadily creeps to overtake the greenish-white patches of his hands. The tingling in his fingers shifts from a painful, burning chill to an almost feverish warmth that only he can feel as his nerves adjust to the suddenly being able to feel things again.

Legend closes his eyes, leaning his shoulder against the smooth bark of the tree as Warriors works. It feels too awkward to just stare at his frozen hands for the next few minutes, and he'd rather not catch one of the others' eyes by accident by looking elsewhere--they'd probably take it as an invitation to come over and bug him too.

He's almost dosed off when he feels Warriors release his hands, sitting back on his heels.

"All done, I think," Warriors says. "How do they feel?"

Legend pushes away from the tree to sit fully upright, careful of the pile of rings in his lap. He flexes his fingers, watching to see if any spots of white pop up again as he straightens them. Nothing.

His hands are still frigid--he tests this by pressing his fingers against his wrist, the skin of his inner arm seeming almost too hot to the touch--but his circulation is back to whatever qualifies as normal for him.

Warriors remains next to him, expectant. Legend doesn't respond to his question, instead busying himself with replacing his rings on their respective fingers.

As much as he appreciates the captain's unexpectedly considerate and jibe-free help, Legend is unused to getting help from others regarding his personal issues. It makes him feel uncomfortably exposed, like he's handing someone an ugly little piece of his soul and hoping they won't laugh at it.

He doesn't like it, and the only way to deal with something that makes him feel emotional is to create a distraction for himself.

A sudden, mischievous urge bubbles up within Legend, and he has to suppress a grin as he drops his hands into his lap. Turning to face his companion, Legend adopts an appropriately apprehensive expression for his next words.

"Hey." He trails off, as if hesitating before steeling himself for action. Which is what he's doing, but whatever.

He reaches over, wraps his arms around Warriors's shoulders, and pulls him into a hug. Emotional vulnerability isn't really Legend's style, but this is the only way he'll be able to get in close enough without the captain suspecting something nefarious.

... Though, to be fair, a hug from Legend, of all people, is probably strange enough to seem nefarious in and of itself.

Legend feels Warriors stiffen, probably shocked by his sudden and never-before-seen display of prolonged physical affection. He must get over it quickly, though, because he slowly wraps his arms around Legend and returns the hug.

Legend is kind of surprised the captain doesn't just push him away, but all the better for his plan.

"Thanks for this," Legend mumbles, sinking his cold fingers into the folds of the captain's ridiculous blue scarf.

Huh, he thinks. This hug is actually kinda nice. He blinks the thought away. Focusing back on his self-imposed mission, he begins creeping his hands slowly upwards.

"Of course," Warriors replies, quietly. Good. He's taking this seriously.

Closing his eyes, Legend relaxes into the hug for a moment more. It really is warm. His hands stop moving, chilly fingers hooking lightly over the back of the captain's tunic collar.

Legend takes a deep breath in, exhales, and plunges his icy hands down the back of Warriors's neck.

Warriors screeches, practically hurling Legend away from him as he flails. Legend falls backwards, making no effort to catch himself as he roars with laughter.

Warriors splutters, recovering from his shock enough to look outraged. "Why you little--"

He cuts himself off, and Legend is too busy cackling to care what names the captain was going to call him. Some kind of internal war plays out on the captain's face as he stares down at Legend, expressions ranging from angrily dumbfounded to reluctantly amused.

Amusement wins out. Slowly, Warriors sinks back into a seated position next to Legend, a begrudging smile pulling at his lips. Then, with a snort that sounds more like a horse than like the shining knight he's supposed to be, the captain breaks down laughing as well.

It takes a minute or two for them both to calm down.

"Did you seriously hug me just so you could shove your frigid hands down my back?" Warriors complains, once Legend is back upright and they're both no longer laughing hard enough that the heavens themselves had probably heard the ruckus.

"Surely I don't need to explain the importance of strategy to a captain of the royal guard," Legend snipes back, readjusting his hat. It had been pulled out of place when he'd fallen over. Warriors scoffs.

"See if I ever do anything for you again," he mutters under his breath.

Strangely enough, Legend is completely certain that he doesn't mean a word of it.

The captain stands, dusting off his miraculously wrinkle-free tunic. He offers a hand to Legend.

"Come on," he says. He nods his head towards where the others are still faithfully setting up camp despite the nosy looks Legend sees a few of them shooting in their direction. "We'd better pull our weight with patrol, or else the champion might revoke our dessert privileges."

Legend takes the captain's warm hand, and is pulled to his feet. Ugh, his aching feet, that sitting down had not helped at all with in the long run. He grimaces. Patrol is going to be awful.

Releasing Legend's hand, Warriors instead reaches over to thoroughly ruffle his hair.

"Don't look so excited now," he teases. Legend scowls at him, hands flying up to fix his hat, which had been knocked askew. Again.

Warriors starts off towards the others before he can offer a retort, and Legend hurries after him, grumbling insults he barely means.

Legend wiped bits of grass off the skirt of his gown, ignoring the faint green streaks left behind on the fine fabric. He stared mournfully at the upended wooden bowl that lay in the grass to his left, the remains of breakfast scattered around it. The group of Links had gotten dropped through a portal mid-meal, which was strangely common and incredibly annoying.

He stood with a sigh, scooping up the bowl. As Legend prepared to down the delicious remains that still clung to the inside, the dish was swiped out of his hands.

“Highness, please don’t make yourself eat this.” Time stood next to him, frowning in concern. “We will prepare a new meal as soon as we get our bearings.”

The old man’s concern was, in Legend’s correct opinion, entirely misplaced. He’d eaten a lot worse than Wild’s cooking, and that part of the bowl hadn’t even touched the ground!

There was a faint spike of surprise that didn’t belong to him in the back of his head, and Legend startled slightly. He hadn’t felt that since… hm.

“Yeah, whatever,” he muttered to Time, turning away with a dismissive wave. If the man was going to treat him like a fragile maiden that couldn’t do anything, then Time was free to clean Legend’s dishes for him.

Legend headed towards the center of the clearing they’d landed in, hoping to get a better view over the treetops. Spinning slowly in a circle, he spotted what he was looking for—the tips of Hyrule Castle’s towers peaking above the trees. It was barely an hour’s walk away, if he had to guess. He restrained a groan.

Just his luck.

Legend reached out to the distant emotions now hovering somewhere just beneath his own, his and Zelda’s mental bond snapping into place immediately. It wasn’t exactly painful to be cut off from her, and this was far from the first time he’d been hopping through different realms, but he was always reminded anew of how empty the corner of his mind she usually occupied felt when she wasn’t there.

Link! Zelda’s voice filled his head immediately. You’re back! The relief in her voice was palpable even without the thrum of her emotions in the back of his head. Thank Hylia. Sudden disappearance followed by prolonged silence may be your forte, but it’s still worrying.

Ha, ha, Legend shot back. It’s not exactly voluntary. And you shouldn’t be thanking Hylia for anything. In fact, feel free to blame her for this one, too.

Ah. Zelda somehow managed portray a sagely nod with the tone of her thought. Divinely sanctioned quest again?

Yep.

Zelda’s mental sigh was long and tired. Legend would’ve followed her example, but sighing like the weight of the world had dropped onto his shoulders—again— out of the blue would probably look weird to the rest of the Links. True, they were all bustling around and checking their gear as per Post Portal Protocol, so maybe they wouldn’t notice, but Legend would rather not risk it.

Instead, he drifted over towards where Twilight was seeing to the bundles on Epona’s pack, patting the trusty horse on the nose as he waited for the rancher to finish.

So, Legend began, swinging himself up onto Epona’s back once Twilight had finished securing the packs. A few of the other had insisted he ride the horse, thinking they were being subtle about giving him the road trip version of royal treatment. The only reason Legend hadn’t punched one of them for it was that they hadn’t said the words “delicate constitution” yet. We… may have a problem.

He felt Zelda tense on the other end of the bond, wariness spiking slightly. A problem like a Ganon-level problem, or a problem like you-can’t-reach-the-top-shelf-where-the-mugs-are-stored problem?

Shut up, you’re barely a fingernail’s width taller than me. You had to climb on the countertop, too. Legend grumbled, settling himself more comfortably on Epona’s back. It hadn’t been one of his finer moments but, in his defense, he did have a broken ankle at the time.

And yet I’m taller all the same. Zelda’s words practically radiated petty smugness, the jerk. Like she didn’t wear heels practically ninety-nine percent of the time. Now answer the question.

 My heart says it’s the first option.

So, the latter, then.

Legend glanced around the clearing. Everyone was wrapping up their gear checks, and he was running out of time. He filled Zelda in on the basics of his current quest. The group started off towards the palace before he was even a fifth of the way through his retelling, and he almost tripped over his mental words in his rush to get the explanation over with.

After he finished, Zelda was quiet for a moment, thinking. Privately. Not to him.

Alright, she finally said. So, there are more Links and more Zeldas. Other than about nine people sharing each of those names, this is a problem because…?

That’s not the issue here! Legend snapped, flicking his long hair out of his face irritably. He hadn’t had time to braid it back this morning before the portal had snatched everyone, and the wind was blowing strands of it into his mouth and eyes at every opportunity. I used Holy Magic, Zelda! Only the princesses of Hyrule can use that!

And the princes, clearly, Zelda said. Legend tried his level best to project the feeling of a deadpan look in her direction.

Because princes are historically so beloved by the knights of Hyrule, he drawled sarcastically. Which, like, at least four of them are.

Ah, right.

Yeah.

Silence stretched on for a minute, and Legend kept his eyes fixed on the slowly approaching castle towers. They were almost halfway to the place of his inevitable humiliation. And possibly death, depending on the reactions of the people with swords.

Maybe, if all this hadn’t happened the way it had, he would’ve trusted them with what he was, but seeing how most of them had changed their tunes once they had “discovered” that he was a princess—Time was treating him like he would shatter if the wind blew the wrong way, for Lolia’s sake—Legend couldn’t risk it.

Wait, Zelda said, suddenly. If they’ve seen you use holy magic but don’t know you are a prince, what exactly do they think you are?

Legend’s sullen silence seemed to be all the conformation she needed.

Oh my Hylia, Zelda murmured, and he could hear the barely contained laugher in her voice.  Please tell me that what I think is happening is happening.

Legend closed his eyes, pained, as if that would help block her reaction to his next words at all. Stupid telepathy.

They think I’m Princess Zelda.

Zelda’s laughter was so loud that it nearly burst his mental eardrums. Legend grimaced, thinking for a brief instant that the others had to have heard the raucous, witch-level cackling as well. He opened his eyes for a quick glance around, but no one seemed any the wiser. Hyrule caught him looking and offered a quick smile. Legend set his eyes back on the castle.

It took a full minute for Zelda to calm down enough to string more than a few words together. Honesty, it wasn’t that funny.

It really is, Zelda snickered. Legend hadn’t meant to think that out loud. Or louder than normal. Whatever.

Getting back to the rapidly approaching problem at hand, Legend said, pointedly ignoring her continued giggles. We were dropped basically right next to the castle. We should get there within a quarter hour, at the latest, and I don’t want to have to explain two Zeldas and no Link when we do.

Hm. Zelda quieted. She was still amused, but at least she wasn’t laughing at him anymore. I mean, maybe you don’t have to explain two Zeldas.

Zel, Legend sighed, I already told you, I’m not telling them I’m a prince.

That’s not what I meant.

Legend couldn’t keep the mental frown off his physical face. If he didn’t tell them that he wasn’t the princess, how on earth… oh.

Zelda. Zelda, no.

Zelda, yes.

Legend could practically hear her grinning.

You are not going to pretend to be me. It was less of an order and more of a desperate plea. You’ll ruin my image!

Oh please, like you haven’t been acting like a brooding grouch of a princess, Zelda retorted. Besides, I don’t hear you offering any better suggestions.

She was right; Legend couldn’t think of any way out of this scenario that came without the slight possibility of a nation-wide princehunt.

I hate you.

Love you too!

Legend stepped back from their bond, letting it slip back into the corner of his mind. It was the closest he could get to mentally slamming his front door in her face, and he’d take what he could get.

Legend spent the rest of the walk—or ride, in his case—in glowering silence, listening to Sky and Hyrule chatter about weather patterns or something as he kept his eyes forward, catching glimpses of the approaching castle through the tree branches every so often. Hyrule was telling Sky about the worst storm he’d ever gotten caught in (“The rain was coming down so heavily that I could barely see a pace in front of me!”) and the Skyloftian was listening with appropriate enthrallment.

Legend briefly let his mind wander to the worst storm he had ever experienced before quickly shoving that trail of thought back into the section of his mind labeled “To Be Thought About Never, Actually” and returning to staring at the tree canopy.

The mindless drifting didn’t last long, though. Soon enough, the group made its way free of the tree line and tramped up the cobblestone road to the castle, slowing to a halt in front of the open gate.

There was only one guard on duty—a spearman instead of a knight, thank Lolia. She had already pulled out a clipboard to go through the routine visitor check when she caught sight of Legend, perched atop Epona, and nearly dropped her pen.

The guard looked startled. Probably because she was under the understandable impression that Legend was Zelda, and Zelda had last been seen conducting her usual courtly business from safely within the palace walls.

“Your Highness!”

“Soldier,” Legend returned shortly, going for an approximation of a royal nod. Ugh, it had been weeks and his voice still sounded strange to him when he spoke, its weird musical quality always softening the edges of his words. Among other things, he had to work overtime when he wanted to sound sarcastic. It was torture.

The guard instinctively scanned him for injuries. Not that she would find any—the only actively problematic wound was to Legend’s pride. Apparently content with physical welfare of the “princess”, the guard turned her suspicious gaze on the heavily-armed group of men hovering around him.

“Who are these men, Your Highness?”

Legend could throw them under the wagon and flee to the far reaches of the country in the time it took for them to escape the palace dungeons. It was tempting.

“Don’t worry—they’re harmless,” he assured the guard. Yeah, right.

The Links seemed to agree with Legend’s unspoken disbelief of his own words, a faint ripple of suppressed amusement going through the group; Time was stoic as ever next to Epona’s head, but Twilight discreetly turned his head to cough into his fist, and Wind grinned a tad too innocently from where he stood next to Four.

The guard seemed to hesitantly accept Legend’s grudging assurance, carrying on with the standard visitor procedure before waving them through the gate and towards the final downfall of Legend’s reputation.

They made it all the way into the courtyard, which was fairly empty at this time of day; for most, the dipping of the sun towards the horizon signaled the end of courtly work hours.

A stable hand came scurrying over to take Epona’s reins, and Twilight offered a hand to help Legend down from her back. Legend took it begrudgingly. His knees had been bothering him recently, anyways.

The moment his stupid slippers touched the ground, the sound of familiar boots against stone, accompanied by a rapidly approaching feeling of glee, heralded his impending doom.

“Zelda!” A figure practically flew out of a side corridor and across the courtyard. Legend barely caught a glimpse of a blue tunic and wide yellow sleeves before it was throwing its arms around him. “You’re alright!”

Legend caught Zelda on instinct, spinning the both of them slightly to lessen the force of her momentum.

“Hello, Link,” he gritted out, resisting the urge to dig his flimsy shoe into his sister’s toes as he returned the hug. His pegasus boots had steel reinforcement on the tips, so it sadly wouldn’t do much more than hurt his own feet.

Zelda drew back after a moment, keeping her hands on his shoulders as she looked him up and down. The expression on her face was one of concern, but Legend could still feel her amusement growing to near-manic levels. And hear it.

This is the best thing that’s happened to me since the duke of the western province slipped backwards into the chocolate fondue fountain at the Winter Solstice Ball.

Zelda, it’s summer.

Exactly. Zelda shot him a grin, blue eyes crinkling at the corners, and Legend finally registered what she looked like.

His sister was fully decked out in his old blue tunic with a soft yellow undershirt, his spare pair of pegasus boots—which were for emergencies—and a long lavender hat that he had honestly forgotten he even owned. A narrow dagger hung at her belt, completing the look along with the fact that she had his face. They normally looked similar enough as it was, but with the Sheika shifting spell it became downright uncanny.

The thought of the spell brought Legend back to his original grievance: her clothes. When used, spell would tuck away the current clothes of the user along with their male or female form, meaning that the first time a person shifted their new form had nothing to wear. Zelda had never needed to use the Sheika shifting spell before, as far as he was aware, which meant that in the half-hour between explaining the situation to her and arriving in the courtyard Zelda had managed to get her hands on some of his old gear.

She probably raided his room in the castle, the trespasser. He ignored the fact that she owned said castle.

“I’m so glad that you’re back! I was awfully worried.” Zelda put on a show of fretting over him, schooling her face back to “acceptably concerned.”

Legend bore her act with what was, in his opinion, incredible grace. He managed to keep his dying entirely internal as he watched Sky’s eyebrows climb to his hairline over Zelda’s shoulder.

The Links, most of whom had tensed up at Zelda’s sudden arrival, had relaxed their guard in favor of various levels of gawking.

Time and Four wore similar expressions to Sky as they watched “the Hero of Legend” fuss over the state of Legend’s hair. Both Warriors and Wind were gaping like fish—though the captain was admittedly more subtle about it—and Twilight had a teasing grin plastered on his face. Hyrule looked thoroughly disconcerted, probably at seeing “Legend’s” face make so many non-negative expressions in such a short amount of time. Wild was watching the display with slightly narrowed eyes.

Legend looked away.

“I’m fine,” he muttered, half-heartedly pushing his sister’s hands away from his hair. Zelda allowed it, instead clasping her hands in front of her as she stared at him faux-anxiously.

“Are you sure?” she asked, fingers worrying at the hem of his tunic, picking at the embroidery that he had painstakingly done over the course of a month a few winters back. “You vanished so suddenly—there was no news for months!”

To Legend’s horror, actual tears began welling up in Zelda’s eyes.

How are you doing that?

Practice, she returns, lightly. Then, more seriously, I also wasn’t joking about being worried.

Oh.

“Sorry,” Legend murmured, softening. In all the frantic explanations to Zelda about what was going on, he’d almost forgotten exactly how long he’d been away. “It wasn’t intentional. I was hoping to be back sooner.”

Legend knew it sounded like a half-assed apology from the outside, but Zelda knew about the portals and their unpredictable nature; she understood what he meant. She blinked the tears away, her practiced expression shifting into a small, genuine smile.

“I know.”

Someone—probably Sky—made an aww-ing noise behind them and Zelda turned, glancing over her shoulder as if seeing the Links for the first time. She widened her eyes in surprise.

“Oh, I’m so sorry—I didn’t see you there!” She faced them, giving them all a sheepish grin. “I’m assuming you’re all the princess’s traveling companions?”

It was Time who answered.

“We are,” he said, clearing his throat. “It’s good to meet you, mister…?” He trailed off questioningly, as if he didn’t know exactly who Zelda was supposed to be. The mister in question’s grin shifted from abashed to beaming.

Stop doing that with my face, I’m begging you, Legend groaned, despairingly.

She ignored him.

“My name’s Link!” she informed the others blithely, smiling even more widely. Wild snorted.

Zelda turned towards him curiously, eyebrow raised. The others looked at the champion as well.

I’m pretty sure he knows I’m the real Hero, Legend replied to his sister’s unvoiced question, keeping his face blank. I’m just not sure if he knows the alternative of me… not being the princess, in regards to the whole holy magic thing.

Ah.

“Sorry,” Wild said, trying to cover his slip-up. “That’s just—such a coincidence! My name’s Link, too.”

Zelda laughed delightedly. “What a coincidence, indeed—two Links!”

“Three, actually,” Warriors chipped in, a grin hovering around the corners of his mouth.

“Make that four,” Four said. Because of course he did.

“Five!” Wind cheered, joining in as well.

“Yes, yes, you all can count, well done,” Legend snapped, cutting in before anyone else could throw out a number. Next thing he knew they’d be counting to one hundred and chanting multiplication songs like primary students.

He turned back to his sister. “They’re all named Link.”

“Well,” she said, making a show of recovering from her surprise, “That must get confusing rather quickly!”

“It was at first, a bit,” Sky said, smiling at her kindly. “We all have stand-in names now to cut down on misunderstandings.”

Clearly, that worked out wonderfully. Zelda’s dry tone rang out in Legend’s head.

Shut up, you know this isn’t what he meant.

“Oh?” Zelda asked aloud. “What are they?”

As each Link introduced themselves, Zelda kept up a running mental commentary to Legend, thoroughly critiquing each name.

Honestly, how did you all even come up with these? The only acceptable one is Sky’s!

Legend privately—in his own head, to himself—agreed with her.

“You should have one too, while we’re here!” Wind piped up once the introductions were done with. “We’d call you Legend, for your hero title, but we’ve already been calling her--” he gestured to Legend-- ”that, so it’d be weird to change now.”

“Hm,” Zelda said, outwardly feigning a thoughtful expression. Mentally, she had returned to laughing at Legend’s expense.

Legend? They’ve been calling you Legend? Oh, you must hate that! she cackled.

Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, Legend grumbled, crossing his arms.

She was right, he didn’t like it—what was wrong with just Veteran? Or even Collector? Hell, he’d even take Hoarder at this point! Unfortunately, by the time he realized that their stupid, title-based nicknames were permanent, it was too late to change it.

Now, there’s an idea…

“How about Fable?” he suggested, innocently. “That’s pretty similar.”

Oh, you sneaky little—

“That sounds reasonable to me,” Time said, the corners of his eyes crinkling slightly. The others quickly voiced their assent as well and, before Zelda could protest, Fable was irrevocably immortalized.

Suffer with me, sister dear.

“How lovely!” Zelda said, smiling sweetly at Legend through gritted teeth. “Now we match, Princess of Legend.”

Legend refused to be cowed. This was the first social victory he had achieved in months, and he was going to savor it.

He smiled back just as sweetly. “So we do, Fable.”

They stared each other down for another moment before Fable finally blinked, looking away. Legend couldn’t restrain the smug edge to his grin as he turned back to the Links, who were watching with bemusement.

“Come on, let’s go inside. It’s getting dark.”

Fable started slightly. Legend could see her falling into her “Hosting Princess” mode on instinct as she clapped her hands together, assuming an apologetic expression.

“That’s right! I’m terribly sorry, I’ve left you all to stand around in the chill when you must be so tired from your journey.” She gestured towards the door she had come out of earlier. “Please, follow me.”

The Links trailed close behind the two of them as Fable linked her arm through Legend’s, leading them inside the castle. Legend went along without resistance. He could survive the embarrassment of whatever Fable was going to do while wearing his face no problem, as long as it kept the others from finding out the truth. Hopefully a portal would appear soon, and they could be on their way.

Avid wasn’t sure how long he and Elle—who was alive, Elle was alive—stayed there, kneeling on the hardwood floor. Avid never wanted to let go of his partner again, and if the way Elle’s arms were wrapped around him like a vice was any indication, she felt the same way.

“You’re injured,” Avid mumbled into her jacket.

“I’m fine now,” Elle replied. Her embrace didn’t loosen one bit. Any other time, Avid would’ve been happy to take her word for it; however, in this particular situation, he knew her word was utter baloney.

“You have a massive hole in your chest.” Avid hoped that his incredulous tone wasn’t lost in the bloody fabric he still had his face pressed into. A short, strained laugh was the only acknowledgement that Avid received for his very valid concern.

Well, he could always hug her again after bandaging her somehow non-fatal wound. Because she was there and she was alive. Avid could still hardly believe it.

Loosening his death grip on the back of Elle’s jacket, Avid pushed away from her. Elle’s own hold slackened reluctantly, and she kept her hands cradled around his upper arms as he inspected her injury.

Avid wasn’t sure what he was expecting to see—he’d never exactly watched anyone get impaled before, or done any impaling—but he thought maybe there’d be some bloody, jagged pieces of a ribcage or the fluttering pulse of a heart. Instead, the only thing beneath the stained tear in Elle’s blouse was smooth, unbroken skin.

Avid sucked in a bewildered breath, hearing Elle do the same. The gaping, weeping wound that had been there only minutes prior was completely healed; only a pale, star-like scar marked where it used to be.

Avid thought for a second that maybe he should’ve taken Elle’s word for it after all, but a glance at her face revealed that she was just as amazed as he was. Elle pressed a hand to her chest, over where the wound used to be.

“It’s completely gone,” she breathed. “I didn’t even feel it.”

Avid stared at her. This was an unsettling situation that required tact and thoughtful suggestions on how to proceed; so, of course, he blurted out the first thought that popped into his head.

“So—so, I get scratched, I get a decade of chronic illness; you get bitten by the same type of creature, and you get a moment of uncontrollable bloodlust followed by the ability to rise from the dead and heal at supernatural speeds?”

Elle blinked, then reached out and flicked him on the side of the nose. It was a gentle flick, as it always was. The habit had emerged when he and Elle were children and was an effective way of letting Avid know he’d just said something insensitive or poorly-timed. Avid’s usual response was a theatrical yelp and an apology, but his brain was still stuck on the perfectly healed wound in his undead friend’s chest. Avid reached up and caught Elle’s hand as she pulled it away and was immediately grateful that the flick had been as gentle as it was.

Curving black talons tipped each of her fingers, half again as long as Avid’s own nail beds and seemingly fused into her skin. It was as if her distal phalanges had lengthened and pierced through the tips of her fingers, tapering into sharpened, potentially-deadly points. Elle’s other hand was much the same, though the coloration of her fingers remained a similar warm brown to the rest of her hand.

Avid had forgotten about those.

There was a shared moment of silence before Elle said, her tone deceptively lighthearted: “Ah. That’s new.”

“Oh really,” Avid replied, faintly. “You don’t say.”

Elle stood up slowly, Avid following her lead. If Elle had super-healing and claws, there was a high chance other things had changed as well. Both Avid and Elle shared the trait that, in uncertain times, they latched onto what was familiar. In this case, that was monster research—not that Elle was a monster! She just might, possibly, probably be a vampire now. No big deal.

Avid firmly shoved the terrified memory of sharp fangs aiming for his throat into a box and chucked it into the back of his head. Elle was still Elle, clearly, but there were some… slight differences.

A quick examination—during which Avid fetched a hand mirror from their bedroom and Elle had shed her blood-soaked jacket—revealed that in addition to her new claws, Elle now had overly-sharp canines and molars, and her right iris had taken on a distinctly reddish hue. Her left eye remained unchanged, strangely enough, though her pupils were definitely more slitted than before. The two puncture wounds on her right hand had healed over, but black markings spilled out from the points and spiderwebbed around her wrist, trailing off partway up her forearm.

Avid frowned down at his notes, his pencil slowing. He glanced over at Elle, who had moved on from describing the marks on her arm and was re-examining her crimson eye.

“Hey, should I put down “immortality” as a gained trait, do you think? Or is that still more in the theory zone?” Avid asked, leaning back in his chair.

The armchair in the living room was still covered in bloodstains, despite Avid’s grief-numbed attempts at cleaning the day before, so he’d dragged a wooden ladderback chair out of their bedroom to use at his alchemy table.

Elle paused her examination, lowering the hand mirror.

“Theoretical,” she decided after a moment. “We don’t know how effective the healing factor is under normal circumstances, or when dealing with things like burns or poison. We also don’t know if it slows natural processes like aging.”

Avid nodded, adding immortality??? Stab wounds heal. Other harm, undetermined to his notes.

“Besides,” Elle continued, “I think the resurrection was a one-time occurrence.”

“Let’s hope we won’t find out otherwise,” Avid murmured, his stomach twisting. He looked up from his notes again at the click of metal on wood. Elle had crossed over to him and placed the hand mirror down on the alchemy table, a serious expression on her face.

“Avid, I know we won’t. Something… something happened, while I was dead.” Elle went quiet, thinking. Her nails—talons—tapped against the table restlessly.

“What?” Avid exclaimed, jolting upright in his chair. “Like, spiritually? Did you see other dead people? Or—or go the afterlife? Oh my God, did you see God?”

Elle shook her head. “No, I don’t think so.”

Avid slumped back in his chair, momentarily disappointed, before registering her words. “So, you did meet something, then?”

His partner nodded, leaning against the edge of the alchemy table. The tapping continued. “It was just a voice. I couldn’t see where it was coming from, but—Avid, it claimed to be the creature that infected us. Both of us.”

A chill ran down Avid’s spine. His hand shot up to his neck, fingertips pressing against the ever-present bandages. “It—it was the exact same one?” This whole time the two of them had been operating under the assumption that the creature was part of a larger, albeit elusive, group of vampires. But for Elle to have been bitten by the exact one that scratched him as a child… vampires must be even rarer than they had thought. More pressingly, however…

“It could talk?” Avid demanded, his voice coming out as a squeak. Elle nodded again, the tapping pausing. Her lips were pressed into a thin line.

“Yes. It told me that I was somewhere called Limbo, and that I was dead.”

Avid listened, wide-eyed, as Elle described the unnaturally tall, shadowy trees, the pale and glowing sky, and the distorted voice that had plucked her soul from the depth of the dark forest.

“It said that no herb can cure our wounds and we shouldn’t bother trying,” Elle finished, a dark look on her face. Avid knew it wasn’t despair in their pursuit, as the creature no doubt wanted, but anger that it would have the gall try to make them give up. They’ve been at this for a decade, and a lump of shadows thought that a few ominous words would be enough to stop them? No way!

Avid said as much, and Elle smiled, her newly sharp teeth flashing.

“Exactly! And now we have some leads—Limbo, and that there were others there before me. It’s not just you and me who’ve been infected! Someone has to know what that place is.”

“And maybe even about what lives inside,” Avid finished the thought for her, grinning with excitement. This was the most definitive progress they had made regarding Avid’s—and now Elle’s—affliction in years.

Avid snapped his journal shut, standing from his chair.

“Well, what are we waiting for?” he exclaimed, practically vibrating with renewed energy. “Let’s go!”

Elle raised her eyebrows at him. “Go where? I thought we agreed not to test the immortality thing, remember? And there’s not exactly a metaphysical map to Limbo.”

Avid was grinning so widely that he probably looked insane, but that was fine. Elle was used to it. “To the last place the monster was! Where vampires go, people get infected.” He gestured to his neck, then Elle’s hand. “There really are others like me, like us, that we can find, and maybe help!”

Avid strode over to the living room window, staring out down the path. It was getting on in the evening now, and the sun was dyeing the dusky sky with streaks of orange and pink.

“We have to go to Oakhurst.”

They didn’t end up going to Oakhurst that night.

For one, it was getting dark out; while Elle would travel at night if she had to—she had done so on the way back to the lab—it was best to start early and travel during the sunlit hours. For another, she had just risen from the dead. Elle wasn’t going anywhere until she had a hot bath and a good, proper rest.

Avid conceded her points sheepishly, apologizing for getting caught up in the moment. Elle understood, of course—Avid had had a tendency to get overexcited and singularly focused when an idea lodged in his head ever since they were kids. Elle wouldn’t lie and say she wasn’t just as eager to figure out a solution to Avid’s—their—ailment, but she was tired. Sleep first, camping trip later.

Besides, Avid was almost always at home at the Lab; he wasn’t used to the hunting trips Elle frequently embarked on. Elle didn’t voice it, but she didn’t want to risk him getting injured if they ran into trouble in the dark.

Now that he knew she was tired, Avid insisted on letting Elle rest, vacating the ladderback chair and ushering her towards it to take his place.

“No way are you lugging well water any distance for a bath after—after that,” Avid tutted. “Besides, you said you’re tired, so rest! I’ll take care of it.”

Elle wasn’t sure how long she’d been… incapacitated, or what had happened in that time, but she could tell from his reddened eyes and his slumped shoulders that Avid wasn’t doing well, either. His manic energy would only last him so long; however, he was offering, and she couldn’t find the energy to protest.

Slumping back in the chair, Elle let her eyes fall shut. Now that the initial shock of her resurrection had passed—or maybe it hadn’t even really set in—she felt bone-achingly weary. The sounds of Avid’s bustling faded into the background, the opening and shutting of the drawers and his footsteps up and down the basement stairs sounding simultaneously far-off and too close.

Elle let her mind drift as she waited for Avid to heat the bath. What had happened while she was out? It had to have been a day, at least, what with the fading light outside the window—Elle had made it home when it was already dark. What on earth had Avid done with himself during that time? With how flighty he tended to be, she was surprised he hadn’t run and not come back.

Elle wouldn’t have blamed him, if she had woken up alone, but she was glad he was still here.

A warm hand on her shoulder shook Elle out of her reverie, and she dragged her heavy eyelids open to squint up at Avid.

“C’mon, the bath is ready,” he informed her. The thought of a bath was as wonderful as it had been a few minutes ago, but now that Elle had sat down her muscles seemed to have solidified. She sighed, then held her arms out in front of herself, hands dangling limply in the air.

Avid took the hint, grabbing her wrists to help heave her up off the chair. He steadied her as she swayed on her feet, then turned and headed towards the hallway, already talking as Elle trailed after him.

“Oh, I don’t think I’ve told you yet! I made some changes to the heating system in the bath that really make it much more effective—I thought maybe, instead of putting the heat source directly beneath the basin, if I circulated steam through a series of pipes—“

Avid’s words cut off with a yelp. He lurched forwards suddenly, arms flying out as he tried to catch his balance. Elle, her tired brain startled by the loud clang that had rung out from whatever Avid had just tripped over, jerked forward instinctively to catch him by the back of his vest. As she steadied him on his feet, Elle noted distantly how strangely effortless it had been for her to catch him one-handed despite her tiredness. It hadn’t been that easy before, right?

“You good?” she asked, putting a hand on his shoulder. Avid laughed, looking embarrassed.

“Yeah, sorry. Just didn’t watch where I was putting my feet.”

Elle raised an eyebrow at him. “We’re in our house—you shouldn’t have to.” She frowned, peering around him at the floor. “What did you even trip over, anyway?”

Avid stepped away, bending to scoop the offending object off the floor. As he straightened, Elle saw that it was the garden shovel.

“It’s the shovel,” Avid said, unnecessarily. “Sorry, sorry, I forgot it was there! I’ll go put it back in the tool closet. You can head downstairs!”

Elle stepped up beside him as they headed down the hallway. The stairs down to the basement were right next to the tool closet, so she split off from Avid at the end of the hall, pressing a hand to the wall to steady herself as she descended the wooden steps.

Really, Elle wondered, what had the shovel been doing, just lying on the ground like that? Avid was surprisingly meticulous about keeping the space around his alchemy station clear; everything had a place, even if that place was sometimes bizarrely chosen. It was strange that he would’ve left such a tripping hazard so close by to begin with.

The thud of wooden planks beneath Elle’s boots gave way to solid stone as she reached the bottom of the stairs. Elle reluctantly released the wall, mourning the loss of her makeshift crutch. Her entire body felt like it was made of lead as she made her way into the depths of the basement.

The basement was made up of a single large room, and a smaller side room branching off from the far wall.

The center of the main room was dominated by a large stone well, which had been a miraculous find. Despite the disrepair the lab had been in when she and Avid had first discovered it, years ago, the well was still a steady supply of fresh water; it had been the determining factor in deciding to settle there.

The rest of the main room was divided up into various mismatched portions; the staircase at Elle’s back took up one corner of the room, while the one directly to Elle’s left was filled by a crafting table covered in various half-finished contraptions and surrounded by buckets of scrap metal, which she and Avid used for smithing weapons.

The corner across from the stairs—really, that entire wall space—was occupied by a makeshift kitchen. The two of them had set it up when they had first found the lab, and had never built a proper one after the fact. A wooden door in the far wall, next to the stove, led into the smaller room, which served as a pantry.

Elle’s target, however, was the far corner of the room, where two tall screens were erected to form a privacy wall.

Making her way around the well, Elle stepped behind the screens. Toeing off her thick leather boots, she made quick work of shucking her blood-stained garments before slipping into the bathtub. She sank into the hot water, leaning back against the wall with a sigh.

Elle had the same thought every time she got home from a long trip, but the fact remained: heated tubs were the best thing ever invented.

It had been Avid’s idea, to build one. Both of them had grown tired of heating their bath water one kettle at a time, and the well water was far too cold for comfort. It had taken some hard work and a lot of guessing at how to properly employ textbook masonry techniques, but after a few weeks of trying, she and Avid had managed to cobble together a stone tub that reliably held water. They’d raised it off the ground, too, so there was enough space for Avid to tinker around with ways to heat the well water once it was in the tub.

Elle relaxed, letting her mind wander. Wasn’t that what Avid had been talking about earlier, before he’d tripped over the shovel? Some changes he’d made to the heating system? Her eyes slipped shut, and her thoughts strayed back to the shovel. Elle wasn’t sure why she was so hung up on the shovel being out of place, but—

Wait. Now Elle remembered: Avid had been holding it when she’d… risen, and had dropped it. Avid had been carrying a shovel, presumably out to the garden, but hadn’t needed it anymore and put it away after he tripped over it.

Elle’s eyes flew open when her tired mind finally made the connection, and she stared blankly up at the ceiling.

Avid had been going to bury her under the pine tree in the garden, just like they’d promised.

Avid had been going to bury her, because she had been dead. Elle felt as though she was realizing her death for the first time, the knowledge of its occurrence slamming into her with the force of a forge hammer.

The water was no cooler than it had been when she’d entered the bath, but a sudden shiver shuddered through her. She had attacked Avid. Avid had killed her.

She had been dead.

She was alive, though—thanks to the very thing that had caused her to attack Avid in the first place, yes, but still alive.

And changed.

What if it happened again? What if the gnawing hunger, that had reared up and lashed out at the person she cared for most with deadly claws, returned? Elle hadn’t been able to stop it the first time—hell, she hadn’t even realized what was happening! How would she know, next time? How would she stop it, stop herself, from hurting Avid?

Elle was used to being in control of herself; she had to be, as a hunter. She trained until her every movement was honed and precise, practiced until her footsteps were near-silent against the ground, shot her crossbow over and over until her bolts hit their mark every time. But in that moment, when she had been reaching her fangs blindly towards Avid’s throat, she hadn’t even had a chance to still her deadly pursuit—she hadn’t wanted to.

Elle curled over her knees, shaking, and couldn’t seem to be able to make herself stop.